


We Won't Pass This Way Again

by warriorpoet



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: F/M, Porn Battle, Post-Felina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 17:38:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warriorpoet/pseuds/warriorpoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse makes one last stop on his way out of Albuquerque. </p>
<p>Written for Porn Battle XV, for the prompt <i>Jesse Pinkman/Skyler White, fugitive</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	We Won't Pass This Way Again

It's dark but almost morning when the police are finally gone and he softly knocks on the door of the place he's supposed to go.

It's a moment before a woman's face appears in the crack behind the chain, and a longer moment still before they recognize each other.

"Jesus," Skyler whispers. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Walt's dead," Jesse answers, as though that explains everything.

It doesn't. "I know," she says. "What are you doing _here_?"

His dirty hands dig in the pockets of dirty clothes. He looks around, and unfolds a crumpled piece of paper to hold up to her eyes. 

"He gave me this."

Skyler sees her address in Walt's familiar block letters. 

"I'm – I'm sorry, Mrs. White, I didn't know it was going to be you, I just – I have nowhere to go and – can I just come in? Just for, like, a second, please – "

The door quietly closes in his face and Jesse starts to replan, now what, now where, but then there's the rattling of the chain and for once it's a good sound.

Skyler opens the door wider and gestures him inside with a defeated drop of her hand. "Just... quickly, okay?"

Jesse steps in to the small, cluttered living room and looks around while she takes him in. His bowed stance, the filth, the scars, the sticky swipes of tear tracks around his eyes. 

"The police said he was found dead in a meth lab run by some neo-Nazi gang just out of town," Skyler says, a quiet rasp that Jesse can hardly hear over the ringing in his ears. "A room full of dead bodies nearby, the whole place shot up. I don't suppose you know anything about that, do you?"

"I know a lot about that." He waits for a barrage of questions that doesn't come.

Skyler just nods. "Would you like to take a shower?"

"Yeah. Shit, yeah, thank you."

She leads him upstairs, says, "The baby just finally got off to sleep, keep it down."

He steps quietly into the bathroom, stands there like he's not sure how these things work anymore. 

"I'll see if I can find you some clean clothes," she says, and then she's gone.

Jesse strips off, feeling a little amazed that he's doing it by himself, without being wrapped in chains. He looks at the pile of rancid clothes on the floor and thinks about burning them, but figures Skyler White probably wouldn't be too thrilled with the idea of him and her house and fire coming together again. He wonders why Walt sent him here to begin with.

He twists the water on, steps into the little glass booth and its warm spray. He stares up into the showerhead, lets the water collect in the hollows of his eyes, then drops his head and presses his hands to the tile, watches the top level of grime cascade off him and swirl down the drain.

Skyler rummages at the back of Flynn's closet and drawers for clothes she never sees him wear, but she hardly ever sees him these days, so it's hard to know for sure. She finds a pair of jeans, faded and well worn, but a little musty smelling and forgotten, a dark brown t-shirt wadded into a ball at the back of a drawer half-full of similar shirts, a set of boxer shorts that were a Christmas gift from a terrible mother who had to watch her budget, still in their plastic wrapping. It's good enough. He won't notice they're missing.

She holds the bundle to her chest and steps back to the bathroom. The door is still open a crack, and she watches Pinkman in the shower, the blurry fogged outline of his immobile body, his eyes open and empty as shampoo drains from his hair and suds catch in his beard.

"Jesse," Skyler calls.

He closes his eyes and just breathes. He feels safe, for now. The water is soothing, the smell of the soap and the shampoo, nothing fancy, just something sweet and clean, it's the little things, the little things that are all his. That always will be, for now.

He hears her call his name and shakes himself out of it. He shuts off the water and steps out, dripping on the tile, unaware of his own nakedness.

Skyler turns her head away. "You, um... you can use a towel."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." 

He wraps one around his waist, pushes his wet hair back off his forehead. He stares at her like he's dazed, needs to be reminded what to do next. 

"I found you some clothes. My son's a little taller than you, but the fit should be okay."

"Thanks."

He's still. Skyler watches drops of water slide lazily down his chest, over mottled bruises that show the passage of time in jaundiced yellow, faded greens, smudged grays, bold new purples and blacks. She remembers the night she wanted him dead.

"Is there anything else I can do?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know why he gave me your address. He just... he pushed the paper into my hand as I was going, and... I don't know why..."

"You can't stay here. The police will be back in the morning. I need to go identify his body. I'm sure they'll want to talk to you if they find you."

"I'm alive," he says, bewildered, like he hasn't heard the consequences of that fact. "I should be dead, and I'm alive. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

She's felt more dead than alive for longer than she cares to consider. She shakes her head and touches his arm, his skin damp but warm, and feels something there. A thrill, a pulse, a kick in the gut, the way he looked at her the last time she saw him, the way she'd tried to forget. Like he knew her. Like he saw himself in her, in the way Walt spoke to her. Like they were the same. He looks at her that way again.

Her voice vibrates in the back of her throat. "You need to go."

His skin is wet and then so is she as he presses against her, pushing her back to the wall in the small bathroom. He kisses her, a cut on his lip opens and the coppery taste of blood stains her tongue. 

Jesse's got that same feeling back from when he smashed through that gate, like everything he kept inside needs to get out, _now_ , like he suddenly can't breathe because his lungs are already too full, like he's feeling something, he's feeling too much, and he doesn't know what it all is.

Skyler's hand goes under his towel and Jesse thinks maybe this is why Walt sent him here. He knew what they both needed. Still pulling the strings from beyond the grave, but fuck him, Jesse wants this one for himself. And Skyler does too, it seems, stroking him hard, the pleasant scratch of her nails as she fondles him, and he remembers that pleasure is a thing, too. Something he used to have, something he can have again, now, even just for a fleeting moment.

He tugs at her shirt, she gasps as he rips through the cotton, pulls it open, a ragged tear from her chest to her throat. 

He's dangerous, she knows that. What he did before, whatever it is he's done since. She idly wonders if he killed Walt, and definitively knows that she doesn't care. 

The towel pulls loose and his bare cock presses against her thigh as he tugs at the waistband of her pants. 

"I was always kind of scared of you, y'know. You were such a ballbuster," he says.

She tries to laugh and it comes out like a sob. "And now?"

Jesse pulls the cups of her bra down, exposes her breasts, leaves a thin trail of blood behind his mouth. 

"Are you scared of me?" he asks.

He gets Skyler's pants open, shoves them down far enough to knead her ass with his hands. "A little," she breathes into his neck.

Jesse catches her face in his hands and suddenly that dazed, shellshocked look in his eyes is gone. He's here, he's looking at her, right inside her. "Don't be. Everyone's dead. Everyone you've gotta be afraid of is dead."

She wants to believe him, so she wraps her hands around his wrists and kisses him, moves his hands lower, resting them on her hips, steadies her trembling fingers against his cock again.

Jesse turns her around, hoists her up on the bathroom counter, gets her pants the rest of the way off and convinces her with his fingers and tongue that maybe it's over, maybe now it's really over.

Skyler tugs on his damp hair, pulls him up, wants to feel him inside her, wants to _feel_. She grabs his ass, pulls him against her, hooks her legs around him and holds his head to her chest. He grips her thighs and moves inside her, like a match striking and sparking though not quite lighting, and she starts to see the possibilities of something that could engulf her. 

There's a damp tickle on her breasts, she assumes it's his still-wet hair, or maybe the blood from his lip, but she wraps her arms around his shoulders and feels them shaking, strokes his back and feels the reverberation of a cry there. 

"What about the people you have to be afraid of?" she asks. "Is there anyone left?"

"It's just me," Jesse answers, a guttural snap from behind clenched teeth.

He pushes her back further on the counter and everything scatters, the pill bottles of antianxiety and antidepressant medication, a bowl of cotton swabs, makeup and moisturiser and a plastic cup with the last dregs of a screwdriver, knocked off the counter and into the sink, crashing onto the floor. Her back is pressed against the mirror and he lifts up her legs, grunts as he fucks her and she tries to soothe him, tries to quiet him, tries to hold herself up and not break the glass but he's driving into her just right and the match sparks and flames inside her, she shatters and cries the tears she's been holding off since Walt left that afternoon, and Jesse comes with a final growl and slumps against her, pressing his face to her stomach, warm, shuddering exhales.

Jesse gulps a few deep breaths, touches her breasts again, tries to wipe away the blood and the tears. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, gently wiping the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm sorry." He stands up straight and his expression changes, he recoils as he sees himself in the mirror behind her. "I didn't mean to – "

Skyler pulls him to her, shushes him, hooks him with her legs again.

"They want to put me on trial, you know," she says once she catches her breath, once he's quiet and staring up at her with his eyes vacant and blue as a clear morning sky. "I'm the only one they have left to go after. I could turn you in, and it'd all go away for me."

"Yeah," he rasps. "You could. Wouldn't be the worst thing that's happened."

She sniffs, traces the scar around his eye with a gentle fingertip. "You should go." Skyler eases herself off the counter, pulls her cardigan closed over the rip in her shirt, carefully steps back into her pants. "I don't have any money to give you, but I could get you something to eat. Something to take with you."

"That'd be nice. Thanks."

She makes him sandwiches, ham and cheese in a brown paper bag, and sends him out the back door, back into the night, before the sun rises, before the police and the cameras come, before anyone starts to wonder if Jesse Pinkman is dead or alive, before anyone starts to pick apart what remains of Walter White's widow.


End file.
